


History's Gayer Than You Think (Or So MJ Says)

by lattely



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Movie Night, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Peter Parker, POV Third Person, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, honestly if you're looking for angst just go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lattely/pseuds/lattely
Summary: Peter Parker has never witnessed a proposal. Until one day, he finds himself inches away from history building itself with the help of a ring box, when all he was up for was watching a movie.





	History's Gayer Than You Think (Or So MJ Says)

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my beta [mzuul](https://mzuul.tumblr.com)! Give her some love on Tumblr, she's such a sweet person and her art is incredible <3

No matter if it’s the fifth or the five hundredth time, being dropped off by Happy in front of the entrance to the Avengers Headquarters for the weekly Avengers movie night will always be strange.

In the end, Mr. Stark’s convinced Peter to give in to calling himself an Avenger (which still feels weirder than anything he’s ever done) and though he never talked him into moving into the headquarters altogether, he’s bombarded Peter with offers of at least joining them for the weekends for so long Peter had to say yes for the sake of his own mental health.

Peter gathers his backpack (Mr. Stark always insists he sleep over) and climbs out of the backseat of the nondescript black car.

“Thanks, Happy,” he throws over his shoulder. In response, Happy only nods. Peter’s stopped in his feeble attempts at talking to him some time ago when Happy refused to speak each and every time Peter tried to chat him up, effortlessly making Peter feel like a moron.

Peter walks into the hall. The lady at the front desk, Terri, smiles at him when she looks up from her paperwork. She's a clever, incredibly sweet young woman who skilfully wields a wicked wit, and Peter _adores _her.__

__“Hey, Peter,” she greets. Her piercing hazel eyes are lined with midnight blue today. “How are you?”_ _

____

Peter sends her his best charming smile. “I’m good, thanks. How about you? Is your cat better?”

Terri's beloved elderly calico, Obama, has gone down with a stomach bug, and Peter has been making sure to keep himself updated ever since the first day of the pet's unfortunate illness, because, according to Mrs Esposito from downstairs back in Queens, he's a precious kid.

Terri brightens at the question. “Much, thank you.” She waves a dark-skinned, manicured hand towards the ceiling. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Right,” he says. “Have a good one, then.”

“You too, Peter,” Terri says, and bows her purple-haired head over the files littering her desk as Peter disappears into one of the elevators.

“Avengers’ common room, please,” he says when the polished steel doors close after him (another thing that makes him feel like he’s living in a weirdly realistic science novel - talking to empty lifts). Something beeps and an awkward shot of Peter’s face flashes on a small screen. He remembers the day the photo was taken - Mr. Stark has told him to look into the camera like he was gazing at a pretty girl he was flirting with. Peter did not do it.

“Right away, Peter,” FRIDAY says, and the elevator moves.

In no time, the doors slide open, and Peter coyly steps out into the communal living space. Even after being here multiple times before, he still can’t stop marvelling at the extremely modern and, without a doubt, dizzyingly expensive design. He and May could never afford such luxury, not in his wildest dreams, and he lets his eyes soak it all up while he can.

The Avengers are all immersed in an intense argument when he comes in, and Peter doesn’t budge any further than necessary to avoid having a foot jammed off by the closing elevator doors.

“Spiderling!” Tony calls out when he sees him out the corner of his eye. “Tell this bunch of cretins Pierce Brosnan is better than Sean Connery!”

Peter shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “I, uh,” he says. “I prefer Sean Connery, actually, Mr. Stark.”

He’s had the love for the first man to ever embody the iconic 007 ingrained in him practically since birth - he’s watched _Dr No_ for the first time when he was barely eight. He remembers enjoying it a great deal, despite not remotely understanding what was going on on the screen.

Someone cheers in triumph, and Tony clutches at his heart in mock-betrayal. “Et tu, Brute?” he gasps.

A jersey-clad Wanda ignores him in favor of patting an empty spot beside her on the couch. “Come sit down, Peter.”

He does. He likes Wanda; she’s quiet but not any less nice, and when he needs it, she gives the best advice. Perhaps it has something to do with her age being closest to Peter’s; she can actually face helping him ask out attractive people. He really, truly doesn’t need a repeat of the time he found himself leaving Avengers’ Headquarters one Sunday afternoon with far more knowledge on all the bizzare courting habits from the 30's than he’s ever intended on acquiring.

“How’s it going, kid?” Steve (speak of the devil) asks from the seat next to him. He’s curled up on the couch, dressed in sweatpants, with his arm around Sergeant Barnes, who’s leaning into his touch with half-closed eyes.

Peter gulps. “It’s alright, Captain America, sir.”

Peter’s grateful he’s more or less learned to function properly in Cap’s presence, or at least that his mouth is finally capable of forming real words when he’s near. Steve used to frighten the life out of Peter. Nowadays, he’s only extremely imposing, which feels like a big step-up.

The Winter Soldier though, he could still send Peter hiding under the table with one move if he wished to, even in his sweats and a hoodie with Cap’s shield printed on the front (which, Peter thinks, is kind of adorable. Not that he would ever say it. He quite likes being alive, thankyouverymuch).

Finding out about the un-platonic nature of Cap’s relationship with Barnes all of seven weeks ago while watching _The Breakfast Club_ was definitely an experience. Peter looked around the room with his eyes threatening to pop out of his skull, desperately seeking someone who was just as gobsmacked by the fact that two icons of American history _just kissed on the mouth_ five feet away from them, but the only reaction he received was Clint humming ‘Didn’t know, huh?’ around a spoonful of canned tomato soup.

“So, God save me, we’re watching _Goldfinger_?” Mr. Stark asks the room, a ray of leftover hope burning out in his voice.

“Nothing you can do about it, Stark,” Sam says, munching on a marshmallow from a giant bowl in his lap. “It’s a mutual agreement.”

“Fine,” Tony groans in defeat.

To Barnes’ disgruntled sounds of protest, Cap gets up from the couch just as Mr Stark opens his mouth to command FRIDAY to roll the movie.

Steve lifts his arms before Tony can express his blatant outrage at the interruption of the screening, raising his eyebrows in a wordless ‘Shut the hell up’, and Tony - however grudgingly - falls silent, folding his arms across his chest.

Cap waits for everyone to quiet down, and when all inquiring eyes are glued to him in askance, he clears his throat.

“Before we begin,” he says, lacing his fingers together before him in a gesture oddly unfitting somehow, “I want to do something really important.”

“Hurry up, though,” Clint says through an enormous mouthful of popcorn.

“Yeah, or there will be no food left before the movie starts,” Natasha mutters, and Clint opens his mouth to shoot back but then thinks better of it, only scrunching up his face mockingly in a true kindergarten fashion. Across the room, Mr Stark rolls his eyes with a long-suffering groan.

“I believe the Captain was saying,” Thor’s voice booms, and Steve nods at him with a faint smile.

“Yes, uh, thank you,” he says. He’s fiddling with his own fingers, and if he weren’t an American trademark for courage and bravery, Peter would almost think he’s... nervous?

But he is Captain America after all, therefore any leftover possibility of him being something other than perfectly collected is not likely (read: impossible). Simple math.

“Since we’re all here and the world doesn’t seem to be falling apart any second,” there’s a muffled ‘Knock on wood’ somewhere to Peter’s left, “I need to do something that has been on my mind for a very long time,” Cap goes on. His features are carefully trained into a calm mask, but his eyes are unsteady, like a storm about to start.

He clears his throat again, craning his neck as if there was a stiff collar scraping at his skin, even though he’s wearing a cotton t-shirt and not his suit (which, Peter supposes, can’t be that uncomfortable anyway).

Steve takes a breath and speaks. “I’m not going to make this long, I don’t think, because that’s not what this is about. I’m standing here right now because I made a decision.”

So far, the speech sounds like a determined congressman’s, and if Peter could be any more intimidated, he would be.

“Not yesterday, not a week or month ago. Not a year, not even ten,” Steve goes on. “I swore to myself that when it was possible, even when I doubted it could ever be, I promised myself I would do this. And now it is possible. And I’m here.”

If the perplexed looks on everyone’s faces are anything to go by, not one person in the room knows what the hell he’s talking about, but they are all positively desperate to find out.

“Bucky,” Cap says after a moment’s pause. For the first time in his life, Peter has an opportunity to see the Winter Soldier thrown off-guard as he locks eyes with Steve, lips moving in an only barely audible ‘Yeah?’.

The corner of Cap’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go warm, like the ice on Central Park’s lakes that melts in the spring, reflecting the sunbeams skittering over the surface of the reappearing water. “I could say that you’re my other half, but you’re not, because I’m already whole by myself,” he says, and the entire world seems to stop turning. “Instead, you are a matching piece of a set of two. Like a puzzle. I could try to put a different one in your place, but in the end you’re the only one that would ever truly fit me.

“Bucky,” Cap repeats the name like it’s a spell. “You make me happy. You don’t need to do anything, you can be asleep or you can be reading a book in silence, and I’ll look at you once and I’ll be instantly overcome with joy.”

Peter’s gaze keeps on flickering to Barnes. The Soldier’s smiling, but the curve of his lips is more than just cheerful; it’s shards of many different emotions put together, sealed by memories no one but him has a way of remembering.

It’s absolutely mortifying.

“When we fight, I instantly regret every word I spit out to hurt you, and in my mind I’m fumbling for how to make you laugh again,” Steve continues, his mouth twitching upwards of its own accord now.

Peter glances at the other Avengers. They’re all unmoving and silent, as if in some sort of trance, following Steve’s every word like starved dogs, their eyes focused solely on him. Natasha is clutching Clint’s arm tightly, probably unaware of her hand’s death grip on it. In spite of himself, Peter wonders if she’s cutting off his blood supply.

“Sometimes you make me absolutely mad, but then I remember how dear you are to me and I forgive you.” Cap’s words rip him back to reality, which at the moment doesn’t seem like it at all. “I’d forgive you for anything without a second thought, because you could just put your hand on my shoulder and I would forget my own name.”

There’s a shrewdly amused smirk etched into Barnes’ handsome face now, but his eyes hold none of the acute lewdness - they’re glittering with warmth and unadulterated love, crinkling at the corners.

Again, Peter is bone-deep terrified by all the emotion seeping out of the Soldier. It goes against natural order of the world; James Barnes not scowling.

Suddenly, Cap’s face grows serene all over again. “Bucky. Every moment I’m without you, I think about when I’m going to see you again or how I can make it happen faster. And I never want another second where I think I’ll never again be able to look at you smile, to hear you talk, or to kiss you, or take your hand. You’re the person I want by my side, because I could exist without you, but I couldn’t live.”

If Peter notices any wetness clumping Barnes’ eyelashes together, he pretends he doesn’t. He’s too busy keeping his own tears at bay.

“I used to think the place I chose to do this in must be somehow spectacular all by itself, but now I know that the only thing that matters is that you’re there with me,” Steve says, voice off just by a notch. His right hand travels shakily to the pocket of his sweatpants, and when it comes back up, Peter hears a high-pitched ‘Oh my God’ escape someone’s mouth (for one petrifying second, he worries it was him). Because peeking out from the gaps between Cap’s fingers is a small, black velvet box - and small, black velvet boxes only mean one thing.

“James Buchanan Barnes...” Steve trails off and then, like in slow motion, he sinks to one knee.

Were an exclamation point a facial expression, it would be the one Peter and the entire room of dumbstruck Avengers are sporting just then.

“Will you marry me?”

Barnes’ mouth is stretched into a grin so wide Peter worries it might fall off, lips carelessly pulled back to reveal all of Barnes' disturbingly perfect teeth.

The whole room appears to be holding its breath.

“Yes, you punk,” Barnes laughs, and the space erupts into ear-splitting cheers. “Took you long enough to ask.”

Steve is beaming, smile wide enough to rival Barnes’, and if Peter didn’t know better, he’d say Cap is radiating sunlight as Barnes drags him up to his feet and pulls him into a searing kiss, accompanied by thundering applause and Thor’s shrill wolf-whistles.

“Tic-Tac, stop crying!” Sam shouts through the cheering, and Scott tosses a tissue at his head viciously.

“I was in prison for three years, I’m allowed to!” he screams back with a wet sniffle.

“Okay, now, everyone shut up!” Natasha’s voice rises over the noise. “We still need to see Rogers put a ring on it.” She turns to Steve. “It’s from a song that-”

“I know,” he smiles, breaking away from Barnes, lips red and swollen in a way that makes Peter’s cheeks flush. “I listened to it.”

“Well, then, get on with it,” Sam says, gesturing to Barnes with a hand. “Don’t keep your man waiting.”

“Sure, but just for the record,” Steve raises his eyebrows as he speaks, “I hate all of you.”

“Yeah, no shit, you love us,” Clint quips, mouth full of popcorn again, and Steve snorts, turning to Barnes. The room falls into a solemn hush once more.

“Can I?” Steve quietly asks, taking Barnes’ metal hand into his delicately like it’s the most precious museum exhibit in existence.

The Soldier nods. “Yeah,” he breathes, eyes fixed on his hand in Steve’s. Somehow, Cap manages to take the ring out of its cushion with only one hand, but not without Barnes chuckling in exasperation.

“You shut up,” Steve mutters, and Barnes does, only his broad shoulders trembling with mirth now. His laughter ceases, however, when the ring catches his attention and his breath hitches.

“I... woah,” he says in awe, staring intently at the silver band in Steve’s grasp. “It’s beautiful, Stevie.”

“You like it?” Steve asks, sheepish. “I designed it myself, while you weren’t looking. Had it made by a jeweler down in Brooklyn.”

“’Course you did,” Barnes smiles and wiggles his fingers, all patience lost. “Go on then, punk. Put it on me.”

“Oh, I will, you jerk,” Cap grins and with no further pleasantries, he squeezes Barnes’ hand and slips the ring onto his finger. As he draws him in for another frenzied kiss, the room becomes a hazard for Peter’s eardrums again.

“I swear to God, Stevie, I’m gonna make it so good for you tonight,” Barnes says when he pulls back. Tony makes a choked sound of distress in his throat, coughing around his mouthful of chocolate raisins.

“Hey, there are children in the house!” he squawks.

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter assures, even though his internal self is as red in the face as a ripe tomato (he weakly prays that it’s his internal self only, despite already feeling his ears burning). He has learned about the two men in eighth grade History, after all; he even got an A on a presentation about the Howling Commandos once. He remembers being especially proud of that one.

“You know what?” Tony gets up from the couch and claps his hands together when neither Steve nor Barnes look to be in any rush to unglue themselves from each other. “Screw movie night, we’re going out to celebrate. What do you say, Italian?”

The room seems to appreciate the idea, honoring it with it eager whoops. The only one not scrambling up from his comfortable perch is Bruce, who’s gazing up at Mr. Stark skeptically from where he’s sat cradling a spotless white couch cushion.

“Tony, there’s...” His eyes jump over the group, counting heads, ”...eleven of us and we don’t have a reservation,” he notes (a little voice in the back of Peter’s head screams with joy at being included).

Tony spreads his arms wide open. “Well, I’m Tony freaking Stark, and two super soldier grandpas just got engaged in my living room, so go figure.”

With Bruce having nothing to say to that, Tony rubs his hands together.

“I think I can say this now, because this is as much of an emergency as it will ever get: Avengers, assemble!” he announces in his current best try at sternness. “I want you all to change into decent clothes - no sweatpants, no t-shirts, no colorful socks. Borrow, lend, I don't care, as long as I don't have to be ashamed of you. I’ll see you front and center of the building in fifteen minutes, with a watch in hand. We have a toast to raise, and if you don’t hurry up, I’ll drink all the good wine myself.”

When Natasha clears her throat loudly with a pointed glance at Peter, Tony shrugs.

“And the apple juice, too, I guess,” he adds. Natasha rolls her eyes and stands up to lead the way to the elevators.

“Peter, chop, chop!” Tony rushes past, jogging backwards towards the lifts. “Get off your backside, what are you waiting for?”

“Yeah, coming!” Peter startles and while he jumps over the couch to join the rest, he can’t help but think about how Ned’s jaw will drop all the way to the basement as soon as he finds out what Peter’s witnessed, or the way MJ’s face will melt into a delighted-slash-smug expression of ‘I told you so’ when she hears about it on the morning news.

 

* * *

 

By lunch the following Monday, Peter has managed to overhear every single person in the hallways, including - or especially - the teachers, gossip madly about the photo that’s appeared on Steve’s official Twitter account on Saturday and has gained over seventy thousand retweets over the weekend - a snap of his and Barnes’ intertwined fingers, the gleaming ring with a small, square diamond with rounded corners embedded in the middle clearly visible, captioned with a simple: ‘He said yes. I love you @jamesbbarnes’.

Just as anticipated, MJ has been strutting everywhere pompous like a proud rooster.

Also according to his predictions, Ned has nearly wet his pants upon hearing about the events of Peter’s Friday evening. He hasn’t let one thread hang loose, piling Peter with questions, atop questions, atop questions, until they were eighteen minutes late to second period Chemistry (Peter was peering at his wristwatch the entire time).

‘What did they eat?’ There was not a single dish in the menu that was spared the Avengers’ attention.

‘Did you drink alcohol?’ Natasha let Peter drink a toast of champagne for Steve and Barnes with them, after glaring absolute daggers at Tony who kept on stubbornly refilling Peter’s glass with water.

‘Were they nice?’ As nice as a bunch of genetically modified and/or brainwashed superheroes can get.

‘Did Captain America and the Winter Soldier kiss?’ It was a dinner honoring their engagement. Towards the end of the evening they fed each other tiramisu without a spoon.

‘Were they rude to the servers?’ Sam spent the entire meal sweet-talking a waitress who turned out to be a married lesbian. Tony left a tip twice what he paid, for 'enduring this band of baboons the whole time'. Under his breath, Steve called him the one baboon present.

‘What did you talk about?’ Wanda laughed so hard at her own story about a dream she had in elementary school she cried.

‘Was it cool?’ It was the best damn night in Peter’s life.

 

* * *

 

A week later, when Peter stumbles home from school with his eyelids barely open, he enters the living room to find Aunt May sifting through mail on the couch, her legs curled up and tucked underneath her like a cat’s, the way she sits ninety percent of the time he spends in her vicinity.

He instantly envies her ability to stay even vaguely vertical.

“How was school?” she asks when she hears Peter’s backpack thud against the floor. He shrugs, then realises she’s facing away from him and can’t possibly see him (unless she has a second pair of eyes in the back of her head, which, considering that it’s Aunt May, doesn’t seem that impossible).

“Fine,” he says. It was not fine, not in the least, but the last thing he needs right now is diving headfirst into a tirade about Flash and his splendid idea to refresh Peter’s image by thinking of a brand new nickname for him, as if it needed any more meddling with on his part.

May looks over her shoulder suspiciously, putting Peter under her careful scrutiny. He doesn't dare to move until she thankfully decides nothing significant is out of order and turns her attention back to the mail. Relieved, he lets out a breath and pads towards his bedroom, his warm, soft bed the sole thought drifting in his mind.

“Ah!” May exclaims when Peter is halfway to his room. “There’s a letter for you.”

All of Peter’s daydreams about a long, well-deserved nap evaporate from his head at once. A letter? In this century? The matter needs investigating. Plus, of course, he’s a well-behaved young person and all that, which means he will open any letter addressed to him out of politeness.

But mostly, he’s just so curious it’s eating him alive.

He reaches for the envelope May is holding out to him. The paper, tinted a pale beige, feels expensive in his hands; thick and textured. Peter swipes his thumb over his name calligraphed in the lower right corner in deep blue ink. _Mr Peter Parker_.

He carefully tears the envelope open, mindful not to rip it, and pulls out a stiff card folded in half. It’s of similar color as the envelope, except it’s embellished with a detailed floral design in a toned blue, running along the upper edge. It’s classy, and Peter wonders who on Earth could have sent it to him, and not by mistake.

Until he reads the neat text placed below the flowers, and his eyes go bulging out of his sockets.

“What is it?” May asks, voice bright with childish excitement, her arm hooked over the back of the couch.

“Just a party,” Peter chokes out, though he feels like he might be having a stroke just now. “A guy... from school. He, uh- invited me.”

May frowns, but doesn’t question his poor reply. “I thought your...” She waves a hand in the air vaguely, “generation didn’t send letters?”

Peter gulps. “We don’t.” He realises his fingers are gripping the paper a little too tight, and he wills his brain to loosen them up. “It’s a, um. A fancy party.”

“That’s great,” May smiles from ear to ear. “When is it?”

Peter peers down at the card. “In three weeks.”

“Great,” she repeats, still grinning, and Peter nods, staggering to his bedroom before his legs can give out under him.

If the letter is an invitation to one of the most important weddings of the XXI-st century, well... Aunt May doesn’t need to know everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://lattelyy.tumblr.com)!


End file.
